The Christian cemetery is a memorial and a record. It is not a mere field in which the dead are stowed away unknown; it is a touching and beautiful history, written in family burial plots, in mounted graves, in sculptured and inscribed monuments. It tells the story of the past,not of its institutions, or its wars, or its ideas, but of its individual lives,of its men and women and children, and of its household. It is silent, but eloquent; it is common, but it is unique. We fed no such history elsewhere; there are no records in all the wide world in which we can discover so much that is suggestive, so much that is pathetic and impressive.